


Self Love

by wierdrocks



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, Cuddling & Snuggling, Light Angst, Light Smut, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Not actually cheating, Trans Male Character, use of clit for man's body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wierdrocks/pseuds/wierdrocks
Summary: Bloodhound and Mirage are Officially Dating(tm) after a while of casual hookups. So it's kind of fucked up that Bloodhound would catch him fucking some rando!Or: Elliott is a dirty hologram fucker and this is how their partner Bloth finds out.(I don't usually write smut, and this isn't really smutty anyway... enjoy? I like videos game)





	1. Bloodhound

It had been exactly a week since Bloth and Elliott had had what Elliott dubbed "the talk". For months before, they had slept together, enjoyed each other’s company and danced around the idea of committing to something "official". Truthfully, Bloth had been perfectly happy with their arrangement; Elliott was kind, and enjoyable to be around. Not to mention his skill in bed. Elliott had attributed that last one to a rich history of hook ups and short-term relationships. He had told Bloth this after they had mentioned only being in other serious relationship, and so the words had come in hesitant bursts, his hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck sheepishly. He had feared Bloth would judge him. As if they would ever think to do such a thing! Had the gods not given them all the gift of connection with each other? 

Bloth had regaled him with the tails of Loki’s numerous couplings, and the children they had born. Elliott’s eyes had gotten wide for a moment. 

“You’re…” he stammered for a moment. “You’re not telling me that cause you want kids are you?”

Bloth laughed. “No, my darling, I wouldn’t just drop that on you so suddenly.” They took his hand and squeezed. Elliott laughed nervously. 

“That’s, that’s a relief. Not that I don’t want… like if you… like, if you wanted a family in the fut, uh, in the fu—down the line, I totally be down with that.” He smiled cheesily. Bloth snuggled against him on the plush couch in the Apex lounge where they had been having their first “date”, and kissed the side of his neck.

“We can worry about such things in the future, elskan. If the gods have willed it, it will be.”

“Mm,” Elliott took their face in one hand and pressed a dry kiss their lips. Bloth had a scar on their upper lip that Elliott loved to trace with his lips and tongue. “This, uh, this might sound weird, baby, but… it makes me feel… safe? When you talk about the gods’ plans and stuff. Like, I think if anyone else was saying that-that stuff, it’d be discos-discon—weird. But if it’s you, it’s nice.” He shifted on the couch so his thigh was between Bloth’s legs and they were sort of half on his lap. They pulled him a little closer, their foreheads leaning against each other. Bloth didn’t say anything, just kissed him deeply. 

A few days after that conversation, a week and a few days into their relationship, Bloth let themself into Elliott’s penthouse apartment. He’d given them a keycard after their first time together, saying that it would convenient for them to have it. And indeed it had been, so far—padding into his room in the wee hours of an off day, or waiting for him to come home after a match, when he’s hopped up on adrenaline and vibrating with need. 

That day, it was Bloth who had just touched down from a match, and made their way to Elliott’s place after a cold shower that had done nothing to cool the blood in their veins. They slid the door open and announced their presence, but received no reply. They stepped inside and tapped their wrist com to message Elliott that they were here. Elliott’s apartment was all sharp steel and clean glass, the furniture upholstered in white and accented with orange or yellow. He kept it prim and proper, mostly so it could appear in the background of promotional videos. The one exception was the bedroom, which never appeared in these short clips. Bloth knew it was cozily cluttered with clothing and merchandize prototypes, the walls covered in photos of his family. 

Bloth crept up to the door to Elliott’s sanctuary, and no sooner had they grasped the handle did they hear a moan from the other side. 

They paused.

They occasionally walk in on Elliott pleasuring himself, and it had been nice to come in and ask to join him. What gave them pause this time, though, was what Elliott had said in the breathless moment after that first moan,

“You’re so good,” he whined. 

Bloth’s jaw clenched. Prior to their commitment, it wouldn’t have been inconceivable for either of them to pursue other partners. In fact, Bloth was aware of at least one person Elliott had hooked up with during those first few months. _Now_ however… now that they had promised themselves to each other! It stung. And more than that, it inspired a deep, roiling anger in them. Their hand clenched around the door handle.

“Oh fuck,” Elliott panted. “Yes, yes! Just like that.”

Bloth let go of the handle. They walked calmly down the hallway and grabbed a steel chair from the dining area in the kitchen. They dragged it back down the hallway and sat down across from the door. Drawing the combat knife they kept in their boot, they sat back and prepared to wait for Elliott and their paramour to exit the room. They planned what they would say. Or perhaps they would only stare at him, glare angrily for a few seconds and then leave. What would hurt Elliott the most? What would make Bloth feel better?

Minutes passed. Elliott screamed in just such a way…the image of him arching upwards off the bed flashed perfectly in Bloth’s mind. They blinked the picture away. 

Tens of minutes passed. Elliott had not stopped talking, babbling. And he had always been talkative in bed, but the _things_ he was _saying_ … He begged, he whined, he praised in such a different way. 

“Please, please, just a little more. _Oh_ , you know _just_ how to make me feel, ah! Amazing. Oh fu—yeah!” He screamed and Bloth knew that he had cum. It was irrational, how angry that made them. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Elliott said so quietly that Bloth had to strain to hear. “Oh, I wish we could be like this more-more often,” he chuckled. His voice was gentle and familiar in a way that Bloth had never heard him. He said something else, but they couldn’t make it out. Bloth stood. They should leave. They should leave and spare themself the trouble. The anger. The agony. They sat back down.

Nearly an hour went by.

It had been long enough… and quiet enough by then, that there was almost impossible that they were still going at it. Which meant they were lying there together, tangled up in each other, breathing in each other’s scent. Bloth took in a slow, deep breath through their nose. They remembered the first time they and Elliott had stayed together post-afterglow. Bloth had been quite tired, and simply asked to stay and nap in Elliott’s bed. He had stopped short and sputtered, standing in the doorway to his en-suite bathroom. 

“Oh, um,” he finished toweling himself dry after his quick rinse in the shower, carefully patting at the top surgery scars below his pecs. They were still tender years after the procedure and Bloth had enjoyed tracing them with their fingers and making Elliott squirm beneath them. 

“Only if you would not mind,” Bloth had said with a smile. Their hair was still damp from their own quick shower. 

“If-if you want,” Elliott shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant despite the tension in their stance. “Can I—I mean, would mind if I uh,”

“It is your bed, elskan,” Bloth sat up on their elbows. “If you do not want me in it, I would understand.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Elliott shook their head, water droplets flying off the ends of his curling hair. “I just didn’t—I don’t usually do that, I guess? But if-if you would want to stay and, like, cuddle?” 

He walked slowly over to the bed and crawled in beside them. The two of them laid on their sides, their faces a breath apart. 

“Heh,” Elliott let out a little huff of a laugh. 

“Mm,” Bloth hummed. They had fallen asleep like that, and had woken up pressed close.

In the present, Bloth tested the edge their blade against the calloused skin of their thumb. The image of Elliott, of their darling, curled around some faceless stranger flashed in their mind. Was it a fan? Or a member of the press, perhaps, the two of them falling into bed after an interview. Or another Legend… Hm. Bangalore and Caustic had been the only other ones absent from the match that afternoon. Bloth couldn’t picture Bangalore falling for Elliott’s particular brand of kooky seduction, and she had been so happy for Bloth when they’d told her and Lifeline that they and Elliott had decided to become a couple. Or, rather, as happy as someone could seem when they were as reserved as Bangalore. 

Caustic? Disgusting. Both as a person and as a prospective rival for Elliott’s affections. Bloth could imagine the prickly scientist being seen as some kind of a challenge for Elliott. The idea that that… that… _waste_ man was the second person ever Elliott had decided to snuggle and be lovey with, made bile rise in the back of Bloth’s throat. Or maybe Elliott had lied when he’d said that. And Bloth had found it so endearing, had enjoyed drifting into peaceful sleep next to him.

They felt foolish. And that angered them, perhaps the most.

Bloth slid the door open slowly and crept inside. Elliott’s round, king-sized bed dominated most of the space. Orange, geometrically-patterned blankets hung half off of it and Bloth spotted the gentle slope of Elliott’s chest rising and falling calmly as he slept. Curiously, there was only one set of clothes scattered across the floor, Elliott’s civilian clothes were designer and sleek. 

Bloth was smugly satisfied at the way Elliott didn’t even stir when they climbed up onto the bed. That satisfaction was only partially replaced with confusion when they found it empty except for Elliott. 

In a sharp flash of movement, Bloth straddled Elliott’s waist and pressed their knife up against his neck. He awoke with a start, eyes big, hands automatically flying to Bloth’s wrists. They didn’t budge. Elliott relaxed fractionally when he realized it was their lover looming over them. 

“H-hey Bloth, babe. I, uh, I gotta say this would, uh, be a lot hotter if we’d talked about it fa-first,” he had the gall to grin wryly. 

“Where are they?” Bloth demanded. 

“Wh-wha—who?” Elliott’s eyes darted around the room. “Where’s wh-who?”

“Did you think I would not sniff out your deception _sæti_? Did you think the keenest ears in the Outlands would not hear you crying out for them?”

“Bloth, I—I really don’t know what you’re talking, uh, about. Can we maybe talk about this? With-without the knife?” Cautiously, he slid his hands up to Bloth’s upper arms, bare because of the tank top they were wearing. His thumbs stroked over the skin there, daring to harken back to the gentility of their lovemaking. 

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about _andskoti_. I heard you talking to them. Begging them. Whispering sugar into their ear. Why did you even _bother_ making our arrangement more serious—more _fucking_ romantic if you were just going to screw someone else behind my back? Answer me _drullusokkur_.”  
Elliott swallowed, the action making his throat just touch the sharp edge of Bloth’s blade. 

“I—no, Bloth, b-baby, I wouldn’t I would never betray you like that I pro-proms—I swear.”

“I _heard_ you. Do not lie to me,” They moved closer to Elliott, lowering their face down until their noses were almost touching. “Do you think I am a fool?” Elliott took a couple of shallow, shaky breath. It was then that Bloth noticed that he wasn’t completely nude. He was wearing parts of his Legends suit on his arms and legs, the holographic projectors active and humming. 

“Okay, o-ok-okay—I’m, I’m gonna do one thing,” he clenched his fist slowly, and turned his wrist. In Bloth’s periphery, a hologram shimmered into being, just as partially nude as Elliott was. Bloth stared at the clone and slowly, it began to dawn on them. They slowly turned back to Elliott, whose face was turning bright pink. He licked his lips. 

“I… it’s just something I d-do, occ-occas—sometimes,” he said. He couldn’t look Bloth in the eye. “It—th-they make me feel better.” Bloth sat up straight and took their knife away from Elliott’s throat. 

“You fuck your holograms?” they asked quizzically. They say back on their heels so they weren’t sitting directly on Elliott anymore. 

“They fuck me,” Elliott chuckled nervously. “Th-they fuck me and I—it’s emb-embars—”

“Do not be ashamed of your self love, my darling,” they spoke slowly, extended their arm off the edge of the bed and let the knife fall out of their hand. It landed on the wood floor with a clang. 

“Oh. Oh, I am… I have done the shameful thing. It is me.” Eliot opened his mouth to say something. Bloth put their fingertips on his bottom lip. They traced the curve of his mouth, up and along his cheekbone and down to his chin. 

“I,” Elliott breathed. “You-you thought I would cheat on you?” 

“I thought I saw all of the pieces,” they leaned down and pressed an apologetic kissed to his forehead. Then they slid off the bed. “I should go.” They looked down to search for their knife and felt Elliott’s hand wrap around theirs.

“I scared you,” he said quietly. They looked over at them. They could feel tears threatening behind their eyes and were confused as to why they would cry. They had not had their privacy violated and life threatened. What did they have to cry about?

“No,” they said. “You angered me. I let that force my hand. I should have been more discerning. Let my thoughts guide me, looked to the Allfather’s wisdom instead of acting brashly.”

“Which one’s the god of love?” Elliott asked. Bloth blinked in surprise, and regretted it. The tears would come more easily now. They turned away from him. 

“Freya,” they said. “The Giver.”

“Is—is she like, angry?”

“What?” they furrowed their brow.

“Is she angry? Mean? All the myths I’ve, uh, I’ve heard have these angry gods throwing lightning at, at people. Is, is it okay that I call them myths?”

“Yes, it is fine,” Bloth shook their head. “There is a power in that word, myth. To be mythic is to shape entire worlds. It is why we are only legends. We can never hope to be as great as the gods… But… your question… No, Lady Freyja is not a vengeful goddess.”

“So-so she wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up about this, right?” He squeezed their hand. “Bloth. I really, really like you. You make me feel like—like I can be? Around you? Like I just, like I can just _exist_. I don’t get that a, a lot. I wouldn’t—I would never throw that away. I would never hurt you like that, I promise. I promise. I _promise_ , Bloth.” It wasn’t a stammer; Elliott squeezed their hand again each time he said it. “You—you can leave if you want, but I don’t want you to.”

“How could you not?” Bloth whispered. They were still facing away from him. The tears finally broke free. Thankfully their voice didn’t crack. 

“I would’ve done the same thing!” He was shifting around on the bed, like he was sitting up, but he didn’t once let go over their hand. “I—hang on,” there was a flash behind them and a metallic sound. He had dismissed the hologram. “We don’t need him hangin’ around all-all… what’s the word?”

“I don’t know,” Bloth shook their head, smiling.

“You understand what I mean,” he said dismissively. “Anyway! I don’t want you to go, Bloth. I, I want you to stay and… I mean, you, uh, you didn’t _come here_ to almost catch me not-cheating on you, on you right?”

“No,” they smiled again. 

“What, uh, what did you come here for?” he asked and they could hear the smirk in their voice.

“My blood was burning with the fire of the hunt. I wanted… I want,”

“You wanna fuck some of that, that fire into me baby?” they felt him stand up, and then wrap his arms around their waste, still holding their hand. He kissed their neck, and then their cheek. Bloth bit their lip. “Hey,” Elliott breathed against their neck. “Hey, why’re you crying?”

“I don’t know,” Bloth said. Elliott kissed their neck again. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” their answer was immediate. “Are you okay, sæti?” 

“Yeah. Yeah I’m okay, baby. Come to, uh, come bed?”

“Okay.”

They did not make love that evening, only lying together, pressed close, their breath mingling. Bloth stroked Elliott’s hair and kissed his cheeks. Elliott hummed sweet nothings into Bloth’s ear and curled close against them.


	2. Mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those who were wondering what Mirage was up to in the time leading up to Bloodhound's interruption.

His squad lost the match. Elliott tried not to let it get to him. One loss wasn't going to tank his impressive record, wasn’t going to cost him too many adoring fans, wasn’t going to worry his mom too much… too much… His phone buzzed over and over again as he made his way back home from the Apex HQ. Probably his agent, or his publicist, or one of million other people messaging him to start "brainstorming" on how he was going to bounce back from this. He turned his phone off on the elevator ride up to his apartment.

He knew Bloth was going into a match later. He'd seen them in the lounge when he was on his way out, blown them a kiss. He thought about leaving them a message, asking them to come over when they got out. Instead he tossed his phone onto his couch as he passed it. Logically, he knew that one loss doesn't mean he was out of the Games, and _one loss_ didn't mean that he was worthless. But anxiety didn’t care about logic. He could feel it creeping over his whole form, the nagging sense that he was useless or that he wasn’t ever going to win again, because he'd tripped up in the final round.

He thought about calling his mom; talking to her always made him feel better. But she would only worry, and that would make it worse. Not only was he worthless in the arena, but he had gone and made his _mom sad_. He shook his head and peeled his suit off one section at a time, leaving a trail of jumpsuit parts and equipment along his bedroom floor. 

The shower helped distract him for a little while. He blasted some music, sang along, didn’t think about the dread welling his in his chest. He combed the water out of his hair and collapsed onto his mattress, grateful that he'd don’t laundry that week. Otherwise he wouldn't have the energy now, not only because of the soreness in his muscles, but the voices in his head telling him that it wouldn't matter if he was comfortable. Everything sucked anyway.

Elliott sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. A little nap, and then he'd go see Bloth after their match and make out for six hours. Everything would be fine. 

He couldn't sleep.

His mind kept racing, images of what he'd done wrong that day running through his head. He'd let his teammates down, made a stupid mistake and gotten Anita killed. She already hated him. 

No, that isn't true. Anita didn't _hate_ him. She's terse with everyone. She wasn't in the Games to make friends or put down roots. She wanted to go home. Logically, Elliott knows that she probably wasn't even mad about his misstep in the ring. On the flight back, she'd patted him on the shoulder and said "Good game". She'd meant it.

Probably.

Or maybe she was just being polite.

Elliott shook his head again. He needed to distract himself. More importantly, he needed to get himself out of his headspace, and the surest way he'd ever found to do that was to indulge in a little self-love. 

He rolled over and looked at the image projectors where they lay on the floor with the rest of his uniform. He hadn't done… that… since he and Bloth started sleeping together, and doing it now that the two of them were a "couple couple" felt... bad. 

Logic was back again, and it would like to remind Mr. Witt that touching himself was not cheating, even if he used an extra pair of hands.

Mr. Witt's anxiety-addled brain would like to remind Logic that it did not apply in this situation. 

Elliott rolled over onto his back and sighed. He was already naked and in bed. He didn't need to get up and set up the projectors just to get off. And besides, Bloth would be out of their match soon, and the two of them could spend some time together. Or not. Bloth might not want to hang out after the match. They would be tired. They would probably win. Unlike _some people_ Elliott could mention...

He closed his eyes and slid his hands down the front of his torso, slowly making his way from his collarbone to his hips. He spread his legs and breathed deeply, heeling the soft, cool blankets across his whole body. His fingers slowly circled his nipples. The nerves were mostly artificial, implanted after top surgery, and Elliott was half-convinced they turned the sensitivity up too high beforehand. Not that he was complaining. It only took a few gentle tweaks and some slow, teasing circles to get Elliott going. He sighed quietly at the sensations running through him, and slid one hand down between his legs, the other hand left to tease his nipples, and to move up and slide across the sensitive skin of his neck.

His teased himself apart and slowly circled his clit. He pictured Bloth, how their deft fingers could take him apart, make him shake and mewl and whine. He'd never been with anyone who made him feel as out of control as Bloth did. He'd never been with anyone he trusted enough to make him feel that way and not use it against him. 

He imagined them there with him, kneeling between his legs, stroking and massaging his skin, imagined that deep, rumbling voice. 

And in his mind, they told him they were disappointed in him. That his poor performance in the ring proved that he wasn’t worthy of them. 

Elliott’s eyes sprang open, his hands flying from his body like he’d been stung. No, no, no. If he kept thinking that way, pretty soon he wouldn't be able to masturbate without thinking about that day, about Hypothetical Bloth tsking at him and sighing about how they were wrong about his skills. And pretty soon he wouldn't be able to be with Bloth without thinking those things. And that would be the worst part.

 

He tried to sleep. His mind wouldn't stop. 

He paced, turned on some music. His phone was still downstairs and really, he didn’t want to get just to watch the notifications flood in. The messages, the reports on the match, a thousand voices screaming his own inadequacy at him. 

His image projectors were still on the floor. He kidded himself that he was picking them up to check them over, distract himself with routine systems maintenance. Instead, he slipped on the jumpsuit's detachable sleeves. No one needed to know that they're detachable specifically for this purpose. There were other application too! 

Not that he could think of any of those at that moment. 

Elliott summoned one of this copies, then ordered the limited AI to run protocol M-31. Yes, it had taken him 31 tries to get it exactly right—first the appearance and then the behaviors. He'd added voice lines to it, but that had been creepy, so he’d taken it out.

Running M-31 meant the holo-clone was naked, and already hard. He watched himself grin slyly and run his hands down his chest to his stomach, then grip the length hanging between his legs. Elliott had first designed this version of the clone when he'd been considering bottom surgery and had wanted to see how it would look. I the end he'd changed his mind, and those first tests made the foundation of M-31.  
The clone wasn't the... _most_ well-endowed a person could be with enough medical help. He'd gone for a more naturalistic look. An impressive, but not grotesque seven inches. He'd upped the thickness though, first at M-06, and then again at M-10. Bloth had once called Elliott a size queen, after he’d nearly gone crazy on the end of their Fist. When he could think again, Elliott had demanded to know who had taught them that phrase (it was Lifeline).

But Bloth didn’t know about this protocol. They didn't have to know! They didn't have to find out and then think Elliott was a weirdo. Elliott considered briefly that he should make a holo-clone of his lover and having that one fuck him. Oh, but that would require body scans, and that would require permission and _that_ would require him explaining what he needed the scans for. He shook his head. It would be weird anyway. 

The hologram stepped toward him and Elliott slid back on the bed again, spreading his legs as he went. The clone touched him gingerly, rubbing circles into his sore muscles. Elliott sighed and closed his eyes. Lips and teeth joined the hands mapping his chest and belly and Elliott felt the hologram shift so he was kneeling between his legs. He shivered at the sensation of a tongue meeting his swollen clit. 

"Fuck, yeah," he sighed again and wrapped one leg around the hologram's head. The great thing about a hard light partner was that they didn't need to stop to breathe. Ever. The data for this part had initially been difficult to pin down, but then Elliott realized that he could just program individual tongue and mouth movements and set them to a random order. Right now, the randomizer seemed fixated on the “circle clit” commands—first clockwise, the counterclockwise, some half turns, and repeat. The hologram pressed two fingers into Elliott and he moaned loudly, luxuriating in the intrusion. 

“Fuck yeah,” he breathed as the hologram’s fingers turned and pressed up against the sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside him. He massaged that spot slowly, tediously and Elliott bucked up against his face. It took only a couple more minutes of this treatment for Elliott to arch off the bed and shout, his orgasm making him shout. 

“Mm,” he hummed happily, shimming deeper into the plush blankets underneath him, a satisfied smile creeping across his face. 

He could stop now. He was tired, he could nap and then call Bloth when he woke up. The holo-clone wasn’t programmed to stop after he came the first time, only when Elliott told them too. Thus, he crept up along Elliott’s body and kissed his deeply.

Or he could not stop. He could go on until he was exhausted and sated. He kissed the clone back, moaning into his own mouth. 

"I love you," Elliott said to himself when they broke apart. He watched a pre-programmed smile pull across his own face. He knew it was fake, that he built this machine and told it to do that, but it still felt so good to see. To know that he made his partner feel good, feel special. The hologram leaned down and kissed him again, licking into his mouth. It was one of four or five possible reactions to that phrase. This one was probably Elliott’s favorite, being consumed by insistent lips and plunging tongue. He moaned up into the hologram's mouth, arching up against his chest. He whined quietly when the clone pulled away to press small kisses into his neck, to nibble at his ear. 

"Fuck, you know me so well," Elliott purred. "Know _just_ how to make me feel good." He shivered at the feeling of teeth and tongue against his pulse point. "Mm," he hummed and wrapped his legs around the hologram's waist, pressing his dripping slit up against his hard cock. The clone sighed and thrust his hips shallowly, sliding his cock between Elliott's tender pussy lips. Elliott moaned quietly, reaching up to frame the hologram's face with his hands. "Please," he breathed. "Take me." The hologram slid inside of his achingly slowly, because on top of being a size queen, Elliott Witt was apparently a masochist. Programming that speed in had felt like a good idea when he was horny and imaginative, but now with his brain hazy with lust, he hated that decision more than anything he'd ever hated before. 

"Please," he begged again. "Fuck, fuck me, please," he knew it was no use; the hologram couldn't disobey most commands in the moment. Bloth like begging though, and Elliott had gotten into the habit of it. "Want you so bad. Give me your--" he cut himself off with a gasp when the hologram suddenly reared back and then snapped his hips forward quickly. He immediately set a brutal pace, fucking Elliott down into the mattress. Elliott let his legs fall as far open as possible, inviting the hologram as deep into him as possible. "Yes, yes, yes," he chanted, stretching his arms out to his sides. He gripped the bred spread for dear life and lost himself to the feeling of being absolutely railed.

He found himself listening for Bloth’s voice, for the dirty talk they were so fond of,

_“Oh, you love this don’t you, Sæt? You love my cock deep inside you, stretching your beautiful þinni. So wet for me. Such a good boy.”_

He moaned at the memory of their voice, their praise. He felt himself coming apart again; he was so sensitive now, he knew they would start coming faster and faster.

“Stop,” he said and the clone froze in place, then stepped completely away from Elliott and backed away from the bed. Again, when programming that action, it seemed like a good idea to have the unit completely remove himself from Elliott should he stop in the middle of fucking _sounded_ like a good idea. In the moment, he felt himself crash hard. 

No, please come back. Don’t leave.

Elliott took a couple of deep breaths, arms reaching out toward the clone. His own neutral face stared back at him. He could only respond to spoken commands.

“Come back,” Elliott said softly. “Come back, please. Fuck me.” And the clone was on him again. He wouldn’t start the sequence over again, though. After amazing, hip snapping sex was calm, tender sex. Elliott moaned as the hologram entered him again, still slow. This time, though, he thrust shallowly, bending over Elliott and burying his face into his neck. And Elliott wound his arms around himself and held him close. 

Eventually he said stop and he didn’t regret it. Eventually he flicked his wrist and dismissed the hologram. Eventually he drifted off to sleep with a dreamy smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> þinni= Icelandic for pussy, though I think that's obvious from context. Please know that I ruined my google search history for this accuracy <3

**Author's Note:**

> elskan: Icelandic for "darling"  
> sæti: Icelandic for "sweetie"  
> andskoti: Icelandic for "devil"; what Bloodhound occasionally calls enemies in-game  
> drullusokkur: literally "toilet plunger" in Icelandic; used like "bastard"
> 
> (if I'm wrong about any of this shit, or the Norse gods stuff blease let me know)  
> (if ur here cause ur disappointed this wasn't another chapter of vessels, there is one in the pipeline, I promise)


End file.
